Six Weeks
by SuprSingr
Summary: "Helga, are you okay?"
1. Six Weeks

**A/N:** I started writing this four years ago... Oh, Lord. *puffs inhaler even though I don't have asthma*

Okay, I've been trying to figure out what to say in the A/N here for several minutes now and there's just... PFT, nothing. I've got nothing. Man.

Look, if you're a writer or you know a writer or you've read about writers, then you're probably familiar with the concept of having piles of unfinished material. And among those piles, there's just... one story that stands out to you. That has this glow to it. That grabs you and shakes you senseless every time you read it back to yourself. This is that story for me. It's... kiiinda like my love letter to the HA! series, but it's really screwed up? I began it when I was depressed, and it became a pattern, where every time I'd find myself feeling hysterical I'd sit down and write for this. Hehe. Yeah. It's like that.

 _Wake Up_ is actually like the abridged, baby version of this? This starts shortly after TJM, ends shortly after TJM, and is interspersed with scenes both pre- and post- _The Patakis_. There are ten chapters. It's pretty heavy on the Pataki family but is predominately an AxH story. Uh... I'm not sure what else to say. Other than, please keep in mind the beginning of this was written four years ago? I've tried cleaning it up but really there's only so much duct tape, spit and chanting "I BELIIIEEVE" can do for you. Ehe...

Yeah, I mean. It's still unfinished but it's outlined and... This isn't a long story. The chapters are short, but they're... intense. At least to write. It's a lot of angst, but also happy moments and a happy ending (obviously). I, uh... I was hoping posting the first chapter would help light a fire under me because this story is pretty important to me. It's one of those things I just _need_ to finish, you know? So...

I hope you enjoy chapter one. :)

* * *

 **Six Weeks**

* * *

Six weeks had passed since that day.

Six glorious weeks. Helga could hardly believe it sometimes. She still woke some days in the break of dawn and expected it all to have been a dream.

Granted, things were tentative, a bit awkward sometimes when they thought too hard about it, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because it was _there_. It existed. It was there every time their shoulders brushed, when they held hands, when they looked at each other.

It wasn't exactly the whirlwind romance she'd always expected to happen once they were together, but she could be patient. She couldn't be patient for anyone or anything else in the world, but she would be for him. She would always be patient for him.

Still she often found herself holding her breath when she was around him, words on the tip of her tongue that she wasn't sure what were, as if she were waiting for something to happen, for _him_ to say something. She didn't know what it was. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe her anxiousness was just getting the best of her. She had to remind herself a lot not to be greedy.

After all, he'd just gotten his parents back, and the fair majority of the weeks into their new relationship were spent with them. She'd never seen him so happy in her entire life, never seen him smile so brilliantly or seem so complete. It had forced tears to her eyes more than once, for multiple reasons. She was happy for him—ridiculously so—but the selfish part of her wished she could make him smile like that, that she could have parents like that, that she could have him all to herself with no interruptions…

It wasn't to say he didn't love her. She could tell he did. But he was still a little weird about it, and for good reason. It wasn't too long ago he'd found out about her feelings, and it wasn't too long afterwards that he decided he felt the same. But like always, they were stubborn, and it had taken a big push to get them together—the heat of the moment, or, more specifically, the heat of San Lorenzo. Everything always seemed so clear in moments of passion. He'd looked at her like she was the answer to everything and she'd never wanted to let him go.

But like all things in the world, it had to end, and they'd returned home. Things had been slow since then. He always had been an easygoing kind of guy. Not dense, but repressed, and not dumb, but slow. The sanity to her madness. The tranquility to her passion. The safe, sun-dropped island waiting in the middle of her stormy, consuming sea. She was faster, more impulsive, and she had to keep in mind that that wasn't how he wanted to do this. She'd always known him to be a romantic, very overly dreamy and a tad obsessive when he liked someone, but he acted different around her. He didn't act like a goof, or trip around all nervous and speak all high-pitched. He was perfectly normal, if not a bit hot in the face at times, but not at all how she'd imagined he'd be.

Though, she reminded herself, she had to remember—this wasn't one of her fantasies. This was real life, and in real life Arnold didn't throw all the silverware off the table to make out with her, and he didn't wink at her every five seconds about some inside joke she was never in on, and he didn't have a small, robust curly mustache that made him look both dapper and debonair (yet). This was where Arnold kissed her on the cheek before she left, where he folded their fingers together and played with her hair absentmindedly when she laid down next to him on the couch, where his eyes softened when she smiled and he hugged her a little too long. Anyone who cared enough could see very clearly that he had feelings for her, but somehow, it felt like it was incomplete, like there was something more for them waiting on the horizon and this was only the start. It felt ominous and exciting, but she didn't know what to expect, whether it was going to be wonderful or disastrous—it felt like somewhere in the middle, and she didn't know what to do with that.

She so hated not knowing. She'd spent long enough not knowing what was going to happen, and she just wanted everything to stop and click into place already. For everything to just _work_.

But life wasn't like that, and she was left at a loss, walking down the street beside her one true love as they headed towards wherever for their date. This wasn't a fairytale. Just because they'd admitted to loving each other didn't mean it was going to be happily ever after from here on out. If they wanted this to work, then it would take work.

She wasn't sure suppressing her worries about this was the best way to do that, though, now that she thought about it. Dr. Bliss wouldn't be happy with her.

But she didn't know how to bring up something like that. How could she? He'd just gotten his parents back, he was happy as could be, and she didn't want to slap him into reality just yet. He deserved time to be happy, for as long as possible. She'd spent all her life dragging his head out of the clouds and back down to earth, but now all she wanted was to keep him from falling. After all, reality was a horrible place to be, and it was like Big Bob always said—a Pataki sweeps things under the rug. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't healthy, but it was the lesser of two evils.

She was good at bottling up her emotions anyway. Had been doing so her whole life. She kept everything to herself, wrapped tight as the bow on her head and buried beneath layers and layers of bitterness and squeaking, nervous laughter. It was a difficult habit to break, even as a large part of her (a part that had always been inside her, screaming and roiling and crying out) just wanted to confess everything to him. To just fall into his arms and hold him tight to the swell of her chest and cry all of her innermost thoughts and troubles into his dreamy cornflower hair while breathing in the fresh, invigorating essence of herbs and spices and just a hint of ginseng that hung perpetually around him. It was earthy and warm and so wholly him that she wanted to bathe in it, to be utterly engulfed for the rest of her life like her own personal drug. She wanted him to know everything about her, from her shoe size right down to the dark, creaking underbelly of her very soul, and know exactly what he was getting into with dating such a basket case—and to _know_ , once and for all, that he'd still love her, if he knew it all. Every ugly emotion, every insecure, jealous thought, every twisted wish and bitter fantasy. To know if he'd still look at her the same, like how she knows he could kill a man and she'd be on his doorstep with a shovel in three seconds flat.

But she won't. She probably never will. Not unless he gets her utterly plastered one day three years into their marriage and she bawls indistinguishable nonsense to three in the morning—but that probably won't ever happen either.

No, he'll never know about all the days she's spent staring in his bedroom window watching him sleep, because it's the only time she gets to see him alone. He'll never know about all the nights she's spent up late at night, just grinning stupidly at the memory of him stepping slowly towards her before grabbing her by the shoulders and planting a forceful kiss on her stiffened lips, only to frown the next moment knowing that was weeks ago and he's probably sitting in bed smiling at his parents and not even thinking about her. And he'll especially never know that watching him walk away from her to hug his mom felt like she was being stabbed through the stomach with a knife. It was crazy and stupid and downright monstrous of her to feel jealous of something like this, and she never thought she would (not with the way she risked her life several times over just to bring them together again), but she was and she hated herself for it, even as she couldn't control it. He was her world and idol and everything she could ever dream and hope for in life — she wanted to spend forever with him, traveling all over the world with coffee in Paris, hours between silk sheets on a rainy London morning, dragging him all around Prague's cobbled streets and slippery sidewalks — and his entire life's been defined and driven by his parents. Of long nights spent wondering where they were, if they would ever come back, if they were even alive. It was the missing chunk in his life that he finally had back and now he was whole and happy and perfect _without her_ , and it was driving her insane.

So lost in her thoughts, she jumped a little when Arnold addressed her, "Helga, are you okay?"

Nearly snapping her neck to look at him, her heart skipped a beat at the concern she found in his emerald depths. Perhaps a bit too quickly, she replied, "Why?"

Arnold stared at her another second, slowing his walk, before he shrugged his shoulders and looked ahead once more. "You just seem quiet is all. If there's anything on your mind—"

"I'm fine," she asserted, a bit of a bite there she hadn't intended. She stopped the next second at his stare, grimacing. She let out a long sigh, and looked back to him, head bowed as she said lightly, hands tucking themselves behind her back, "I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little tired."

Instantly the concern flared again. Ever the do-gooder, he took a step closer to her and asked, "Do you need me to walk you home?"

Her eyes sharpened. "No."

He faltered, the hands he'd had out in a gesture of willingness falling to his sides. "Okay…" He offered a tiny smile.

 _So eager to get rid of me,_ she thought bitterly but left unspoken. The atmosphere was a bit tense, uncomfortably mingled with that annoying sense of anticipation, and she took a quick breath of the afternoon air to calm herself. They didn't need to have their first fight as a couple only six weeks into the relationship. She wanted this to be blissful and perfect and… She took another breath, before forcing the biggest, cheesiest grin on her face she could muster and grabbing him by the hand. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you big lug. I'm _fine_." She chuckled. " And I _do_ believe," she began pulling him down the street eagerly, still with that grin, "we have a date to get to."

Arnold's eyes had widened somewhere during her little speech, and nearing the end he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Smiling, he nodded his head in assent and sped up his step in order to keep up with her brisk pace. "That we do, Helga."

No more indifferent _Whatever you says_ or vaguely irritated brush-offs. Instead now he smiled and laughed with her, happy to follow her wherever she may lead. Her breath quickened, along with her heart, and she smiled adoringly at him for his easy acceptance of their having a date. Together. With her. How could she have ever been feeling even an inkling of disappointment or worry when she was dating this flawless specimen?

In the end, he was the one to end up leading her to their destination, and it wasn't long before they'd both purchased two milkshakes to-go and were heading towards the park. She pretended to accidentally bump into him a couple times and he somehow got a face full of pigtail even though she couldn't recall them ever having a problem with that before. She ended up finishing her milkshake before they'd even reached the park gate, and disposed of her cup in the trashcan as he stood waiting for her under a tree while he continued to casually slurp at his shake.

Standing by the trashcan, she couldn't help but marvel at him. He was standing there so innocently, sensuous lips pursed tight around a straw as his stunning eyes took in the scenery; the teens playing Frisbee, kids laughing as they ran, and adults walking their dogs. She noticed none but him, two poems already composed in her head as she let loose a lovesick sigh. If they ever did have a kid, she hoped it'd have his eyes. Those perfect jellybean pools of sour apple and lemon gumdrop. It was nice having a moment to just stop and admire him without making him feel weird or feeling weird herself. Like old times.

A bit startled, she blinked out of her thoughts and began towards him. Once his eyes met hers again and his lips curled in a welcoming smile, she felt herself growing more at ease. She loved this. She loved how freely she could talk with him about things now. She loved how genuinely happy he seemed to be. She loved holding his hand and running her fingers down his arm. It was all very natural and warm and… simple. She shook herself.

Stopping in front of him again, she leaned up against the tree and crossed her arms, giving him a saucy look as she asked, "So how's tricks, my love?"

She delighted in the way his face flushed as he gave a couple quick coughs before lowering his milkshake from his mouth. Licking his lips, ignorant of the way her eyes followed his tongue, he looked back to her and sent her a smirk of his own. "Great, as usual. You know that. It's not like I've been going on and on for the last six weeks or anything."

She gave a hop of her shoulders, holding her smirk. "Just thought I'd give you an opening. I know how you love to ramble on about how painfully ecstatic you are now."

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and she didn't miss the light blush marring his cheeks as he bent down to sit his finished milkshake in the grass. Sitting down with his legs folding in front of himself, she joined him in the grass and watched as he eyed a few blades. Shifting his eyes in her general direction, he asked cautiously, "I don't really… ramble, do I? I mean, I'm not bothering you or anything?"

She almost gasped, her response a hasty, unnervingly loud, "Of course not!"

He'd turned his head to give her the full force of his wide-eyed stare again, and all thoughts halted as he continued to stare. Finally, after a few moments, she saw the slow smile building at his lips before he spoke again, almost sounding amused—no, strike that, he _was_ amused, "You're sure?"

She flushed this time, her face blank. It really wasn't fair. How come she had to be an emotional wreck and he got to be the cool, collected one in the relationship? Mother of God, he was laughing at her, silently, with those unjustly magnificent eyes, and she could hardly breathe. Pursing her lips, she focused her gaze straight ahead and answered stiffly, "Yes."

There was another one of those tense moments between them, and she saw Arnold shift, almost fumbling in folding his hands in his lap as he looked ahead as well. It stayed this way a while, the rest of the park full of happy simpletons, all utterly, blissfully unaware of the rigid, strained posture of the troubled new couple. Oh, how she hated them.

Arnold's voice was the thing to break the silence. "You know, I guess I just feel like…" there was a short pause, the contemplation thick in the air, "like maybe this isn't the right time to really go on about that kind of stuff? I mean, I love my parents and I'm so, so happy to have them back, but…" another pause, before his voice came a little gentler, soft with both sincerity and wariness, "I'm really grateful to you for what you did, Helga. I guess if I wanted to talk with anyone about them, it's you. I feel really comfortable with you."

Helga swallowed, focusing every ounce of her self-control into keeping her eyes trained forward. She could almost feel the incredulous laugh bubbling up in his throat at that realization, but it didn't come.

Instead he said, a little stronger, "But I'm afraid you might think then that the only reason I'm hanging out with you is out of some weird sense of gratitude, obligation…" He sighed. "And it's not that. But it makes me feel weird." His eyes burned into the side of her head, questioning her with his _aura_. "You don't think that's why I'm dating you, right?"

Well. Dang. She hadn't thought of that. Mustering the nerve to sneak a glance at him, she saw the imploring look in his eyes and nearly died. It took her another moment and an awkward, stupidly high-pitched laugh to respond highly, "Well, of course not, Football Head. You wouldn't _dare_."

"Good." He nodded, looking relieved. The next second though he looked confused. "Well then why have you been acting so weird?"

"Weird?" she wasted no time in questioning incredulously, her voice pitched even higher than before as her eyebrow flew past her bangs. "Who said I'm acting weird? I'm not acting weird!"

"Helga—"

Twirling a piece of her hair around her finger and eyes traveling all which ways skyward and beyond, she spoke almost too speedily to understand, "I mean, it's not like I've been kinda-sorta jealous or anything or feeling sort of disappointed for reasons I can't explain properly or anything, and it's definitely not like I'm frustrated with how I've been my usual lovesick basket case self and you're just fine and dandy slurping your little milkshake without a care in the world like none of this even phases your perfect little football-headed universe—" She let out a harsh sigh after her too-fast admission, her hands dropping to fist at her sides in the grass as she glared ahead. Good at bottling things up, indeed. "Criminy, I can't keep anything from you anymore, can I? You've just got my cover bolted down with reinforced titanium, huh?" She threw her head back with a groan, praying to whatever god there was to kill her before mortification could properly set in.

"Hey, hey," Arnold hastened to calm her, reaching a hand over to rest it firmly on her shoulder, giving her a kind look, "it's okay." And after a few seconds of staring fixedly at his hand on her shoulder, she melted. Of course she did, because he was Arnold and that was what he did. He turned her into a sopping wet gooey mess on the floor and made her dare to hope.

Still staring at that hand, she almost missed him when he began talking again, his tone unsure, "You're jealous?"

She blinked. Once, twice, and a third time too, 'cause what the heck, she was with her beloved so why not indulge in her stupidity? Biting her tongue briefly and with a wince, she confessed, since that was all she seemed to be good at anymore, "I don't begrudge you anything and I know it's stupid but I've been waiting practically my entire life for this moment and now that it's been here for six weeks—"

"All I do is hang out with my family and talk about my family…" he finished for her, guiltily.

She felt raw agony wash over herself for her selfishness and she added hastily, "But you _deserve_ that. Arnold, you're one of the most selfless, good people I've ever met. Heck, you _are_ the most selfless and good person I've ever met." She blinked a couple times, on the verge of pure awe at how he could possibly manage any sort of guilt. "If anyone should get to dork out about a family reunion, it's you."

When she turned her eyes to look at him, the look in his eyes spoke volumes; the glossy sheen to his eyes, the small, half-quirk of his mouth as he stared at her, the way he seemed frozen in his spot. She couldn't imagine what of what she'd said could have invoked such a response. Finally, he managed a true smile and he said, heartfelt, "Thank you, Helga. That's got to be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She couldn't help the way she raised half of her eyebrow. " _The_ nicest?"

He let out a full-blown laugh at that, warm and real and making her feel like she had a hundred Spartan warriors all going at war inside her stomach. She pursed her lips against a smile, determinedly setting her eyes somewhere across the park.

"Point taken." He grinned at her, hands on his knees. Blinking a couple times, the grin dimmed and he looked up, thinking about something. Then he said, "I'm sorry." When she opened her mouth, he spoke again quickly, "No. I mean, you're right, I know I haven't really done anything, but I get it. You've been waiting for this all this time and then when it's finally here, I'm preoccupied with everything but you." He looked at her sympathetically, an understanding deep in his emerald eyes.

She stared at him for a second that seemed to go on forever, a deeply disturbed look on her face, before she dismissed it in favor of an adoring smile. "Hey, it's all right, Football Head. Like I said, you deserve that time. I'd be doing the same thing if my parents had been stranded in Central America for eight years out of my ten-year-old life. I know that's been rough on you." She gave a mild roll of her eyes. "Obviously, I mean, who wouldn't that be rough on? You handled it way better than I would have, that's for sure. If anyone should be allowed to indulge, it's you, Arnoldo." She grinned then, wide and pearly. "So don't worry about ol' Helga G. Pataki, buster. I'll be here whenever you need me, whether you like it or not." _No matter what. I don't have a choice._ "Forever."

Arnold tilted his head at her slightly, seeming almost fascinated a moment before he returned her smile tenderly, charmed. "I know. I will be too." He laughed then, breaking the romantic haze she'd been about to slip into. He smiled at her good-humoredly, his voice sensible, "I mean, we're only ten, right? We don't need to rush things. We'll both always be together no matter what anyway, whether it's friends or classmates or whatever. We should just relax and enjoy being together when we can." Reaching over to take her hand, he gave it a warm squeeze and leaned over to kiss her cheek. Her spine snapped straight as a lightning rod, but he didn't comment on it. She was grateful for it as he pulled back, his face still a few inches from hers as he quietly added, serious and sincere, "Even if things don't work out, I want you to know I'll always be here for you, Helga. I promise." He smiled. "Forever."

And it was with their hands held together that he guided her back to lay on the grass beside him. They laid together for time she didn't keep track of, watching the clouds pass by. She wasn't with him, though. Her mind was a million miles away.

Him being distracted by his parents was definitely part of what was bothering her, but it wasn't the whole of it. She still couldn't put her finger on it, though, and she didn't want to bug him with something she didn't even know what was exactly. She didn't want to bug him at all.

But in any case, he was right. There was plenty of time for things to come, for things to change, and she was looking forward to a future with him. Any way she could get him, she'd take it. She couldn't let him go.

Even if they just ended up friends in the end, like he'd so sweetly pointed out in his usual football headed, goodie-goodie manner. Promising her forever in any form it might take. An angel.

She pursed her lips. A cloud floated by overhead, long and fat with pointy wisps flying out from the top. She looked straight through it, something hazy and numb passing over her face. She'd stopped breathing at some point but couldn't quite remember when.

Friends.

He'd always wanted to be her friend, hadn't he?

"Helga," his normally soft voice yelled in her ear, and she snapped her head over to come face-to-face with the look of concern. She sucked in a sharp breath. He frowned at her, and asked again normally, "Helga, are you okay? I've been trying to get your attention. You've been really out of it." Blinking then, a look of suspicion came over his face, and he looked at her closely. She instinctively leaned away. "Helga," he said slowly, "is there something else bothering you?"

She stared at him, startled.


	2. Four Years

**A/N:** 19 follows and 9 favorites. You guys are hilarious. You're so scared.

Well, you have that right. I did say this story was angsty and I meant that. But you should know by now that nothing ever remains that way with me. The overall tone and message of this story _will_ be happy, as all my stories are. Trust me. This is still SuprSingr you're talking to.

So, this is another bit I wrote forever ago. Thought it was about time I updated. The next chap's not finished but then I've been focusing on other projects. I wanna update LwtS again before I write anymore for this, but as I said before, it is outlined. Actually, I'd like to know if anyone would be interested in betaing for me? A lot of this I've already read through about four-billion times 'cause I wrote it so long ago, but these fresh parts won't get that same four-years-of-lip-biting-hair-pulling-revision and since I _do_ care about this story so much, that kinda sucks. So, offer's open if anyone wants to take it? Well.

We're jumping ahead a few years here, so. STRAP ON YOUR SEAT BELTS, KIDDIES. This time machine was modeled after the Tower of Terror, hayuck.

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 **Four Years**

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"Oh, just come off of it, Football Head! You always think you know everything, but you don't know anything about anything! How can you? Your head's so far past the clouds by this point that it's in space. Your brain got sucked out through your ass _years ago_!"

She watched as his face turned three shades of red. Her own breath was coming sharp and harsh, her chest heaving and eyes burning. The next moment, he let out a sigh that sounded like it wanted to be patient but just ended up being frustrated, before he looked at her levelly, his jaw working. He said lowly, his words loaded, "Well then maybe you shouldn't run to me every time something goes wrong, Helga. If that's really what you think."

She flinched. A part of her soul cried out that she was sorry, while the rest of her just seethed. "Maybe you should stop telling me you're there for me when all you ever do is scold me and tell me to be nice!"

"All I said was that maybe you should talk—" he tried, desperately, reaching towards her.

She took a sharp step back. "Talking never works with them, Arnold! We've been over this! We've talked plenty of times but it never does any good—they just pretend to care for a little while then go back to normal."

His eyes softened, at the same moment his muscles in his face tightened. He looked conflicted, reason battling with bafflement and love battling with anger. Finally, he breathed out through his nose and said evenly, "I don't know what you want me to say." If they wouldn't cooperate or care enough to make any serious changes, then there was no point. He didn't have to say it for her to know it was true. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, and her stomach lurched.

She turned away from him, her fingers white from digging into her arms. Her old jumper had stopped fitting her properly when she was eleven, and the shabby pink dress she wore now felt somehow wrong. It was the middle of Fall, and as usual Miriam had forgotten her jacket, like she always did, every year, without fail. It was like a tradition. Arnold had draped his own around her shoulders when he found her waiting on his stoop and hugged her so warmly she'd been certain everything would be all right.

Deep down, she knew her parents cared about her, but sometimes she felt so desolate in her own home that it didn't seem to matter either way. A part of her loved them dearly and wanted desperately for them to feel the same, while the other loathed them and wished they'd get into some horrible accident so she could just be an orphan like Arnold had been. She could get taken in by Arnold's family and live happily ever after in the Sunset Arms until they eventually got married and started their fabulous life together in Paris. At the same time, she didn't want it to come to that, but sometimes she felt it was the only way. To go from loving her one day to acting like she wasn't even there the next; to look past her like she was a window and then magically become the best, most attentive, adoring parents in the world when Olga visited. It wasn't _fair_. Why wasn't she good enough? What was so bad about her that she couldn't have that too?

She needed stability. Something right and good and pure and that never changed; a constant, a comfort. And the only constant she'd ever had was Arnold.

Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. He was here now, trying so hard not to be angry with her even as she screamed in his face. She felt he'd love to smack her if he could, and would have smacked herself right then and there if her pride would let her. Heck, if Arnold would let her. He always scolded her when she hit herself. He had a lot of nerve sometimes and she hated it. Always telling her what and what not to do, looking down on her and treating her like a child when inwardly she felt like she was well into her hundreds and hours away from her deathbed.

But wasn't that what she'd always loved about him? That he stood up to her? That he wasn't afraid? That he was always there with a smile and encouraging words and helpful advice, like her own personal Jiminy Cricket or something? She'd always longed for him to show up at her bedroom window while everyone was asleep, to rescue her from all the horror and pain and confusion and carry her off into the early morning mist, to someplace beautiful and right, but now she just wanted him to stop and shut up. She wanted to lock herself away and never come out, for anyone or anything. Not even him.

He was right. She didn't know what she wanted him to say either. What she really wanted to do was fall into his awkward little fourteen-year-old body and kiss the everloving out of him; to forget every problem, every look, every hardship she'd ever endured and just let the love wash over her and shield her from all the hate.

But it wasn't that simple. Arnold could go off on some life changing adventure to get his perfect, loving, incredible parents back and be happy forever more in his happy, little home with all his happy, quirky, extended family, but she couldn't. She was stuck and there was no way out. There were only tears at 12 AM and screaming in the mornings and stroking his picture frame to seek comfort. She'd always thought that once her and Arnold got together that everything would just freeze and be perfect forever, but the world kept spinning and life just kept happening. They got older and older and it wasn't leading to someplace wonderful anymore. Now all she could see was black.

Tears leaked out of her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, and she angrily swiped them away. There had been a time she grieved ever having him see her like this, so open and vulnerable and disgustingly red in the face, but she didn't have the energy to be insecure about it anymore. It had happened several times already and she'd long lost her will to care. She just wanted him to make it better, but he couldn't. Arnold Shortman, the boy who had a solution for everything, couldn't.

He stood stiff, every muscle in his body tight and caught between reaching out and walking away. In the end, the former won out, and he stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't react, he took another step and wrapped his arms around her uncomfortably, feeling the awkward curves of her sides that had become statuesque sometime after she'd turned away from him. He rested his lips on the back of her head and closed his eyes, his breath still short and puffing on the top of her head in the aftermath of their fight. Fights that were becoming more and more frequent—fights they hardly even noted anymore, they were so common.

She never turned around, and her shoulders didn't relax until he'd started placing hesitant kisses on the back of her neck.

She let herself forget then, just for a little while.


End file.
